


Even As I Wander

by someones_sweetheart



Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someones_sweetheart/pseuds/someones_sweetheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Glee/Supernatural crossover. Finn and Kurt are far more connected than they ever realised and heaven, hell and the whole universe is involved...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For the early chapters this will be pretty Glee focused but the majority of the SPN verse will eventually show up...

_October 1993_

Its ten minutes past closing time and Carol’s wiping down the last of the tables.

She hasn’t locked up yet but then the Lima Tavern barely has customers during opening hours, particularly since that new Breadstix place opened just down the block, so it’s not like she usually needs to.

Most nights she cleans up slowly, singing along to the jukebox and taking her own time once the other waitresses have gone home to kids and families, before she can muster the strength to get the last bus down town, back to the old childhood bedroom that she moved back into three months ago, back to her parents’ house already at twenty-three.  
Carol’s only worked at the Lima Tavern for two months. It’s only _been_ two month since Christopher…She always thinks of it that way in her mind, with an ellipses. Died is too solid a word, too real, when it still feels like he’s fighting some faceless enemy in an unimaginable desert thousands of miles away.  
Her cleaning time helps. It’s _hers_. It’s nothing much but it is a routine. So what if she likes to turn the jukebox up to its highest and rock out to REO Speedwagon when there’s no one around to watch her? It makes her feel silly, her own age, not a _widow_ , a word that makes her shoulders set a little harder whenever she hears it.  
Which is why she’s pissed when the door swings open at ten past twelve that night.

She turns around, ready to shoo the lingering patron away, but something inside her freezes.

It’s not one of the elderly barflies who frequent the Lima Tavern.

He’s tall. Tall and dark, and even in the dim bar light his eyes look haunted. Something inside her runs cold. Maybe she’s seen too many dumb horror movies. Or maybe her luck really is this bad; maybe after everything with Chris, this is how it ends for her. She imagines her own picture on the news. The poor widowed bar maid, murdered when closing up. Only twenty-three.

Then the stranger speaks.

“Speedwagon?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow, his voice a low growl, even though he’s wearing a grin that she’s sure is meant to mock her.

“Kevin Cronin rocks” she blurts, no idea where her words came from, wishing that for once she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

“My friend Bill used to say that,” the stranger smiles.

“He doesn’t say it anymore?”

“He’s dead,”

“Oh…oh we’re closed,” she suddenly remembers.

The stranger steps further into the light. He’s good looking in a tired way. His hair is dark and slightly in needs of a cut, curling at the ends. There’s a cut on his forehead, healing and he’s wearing an old brown leather jacket with the collar popped. He looks about thirty-five.

“Sorry, I just…You look like a nice girl and I could really use a whiskey chaser. Then, I’ll be out of your hair. I promise, Scout’s honour,” he says with a hand on his heart.  
“You’re friend…who died…what happened?” she asks, stepping back.

“Hunting accident,” the stranger sighs, running a hand across his face, “a week ago...I just drove up from Nebraska…his wife,” the stranger looks taken aback at his own words and the fact that he spoke at all, like he might be drunk already. He looks lost. And there’s a softness to his face, something that tugs at the inside of her chest.

“So that whiskey chaser, huh?” she offers, putting her cleaning rag down on the table and walking back behind the bar.

“Thank you,” he sighs sinking down onto the bar stool opposite her. His voice is deep. Sexy, she thinks briefly, a blush rising up her cheeks. She hasn’t thought of a guy, a non-Christopher guy in that way in so long.

“I’m Carol,” she says as she reaches for the whiskey bottle, “Carol Hudson,” she corrects, feeling silly that she still has Christopher’s name even though they were only married for a year. His name sits heavy on her shoulders, like a borrowed overcoat.

“John…” the stranger mumbles.

“No last name?” she teases.

He smiles a sad smile, but doesn’t offer her an answer.

“So what’s a pretty girl you’re age doing working a dive bar on your own this time of night….”

“In a town as crappy as this, right? That was the end of your question ?”

“I’ve seen plenty crappier,” he laughs, and she laughs in spite of herself. She pushes the drink out towards him.

“My husband…he…died,” she takes a deep breath, “that’s why. Me. This bar. That’s why.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, draining a long sip from his drink.

“It’s...its ok,” she says, even though she can feel something welling up inside her.

“My wife passed away ten years back,” he offers.,

“Oh,” Carol looks away.

John pulls a rumpled twenty from his coat pocket and leaves it on the bar.

“Get yourself something too,” he offers,

“I...I really couldn’t”

“You gonna make a guy drink alone?” he's smiling again,

“No…no” she says, pouring a shot of whiskey for herself.

*  
That’s how she finds herself three hours later , perched on the pinball machine, her legs around the waist of a stranger, making love to a man who isn’t her husband and trying to remind herself that you can’t cheat on the dead.

When they’re done they both get dressed in silence. She knows she’ll never see John NoLastName ever again.

When he leaves, she can hear him talking on the pay phone outside. The windows of the Lima Tavern are too thin.

“C’mon Sammy, bud, you’ve gotta go to bed for Uncle Bobby, ok?” she hears him say. He’s talking to a child and something inside her feels cold.

*  
Three weeks later she’s sat on her parent’s bathroom floor, staring down at a test with two pink lines on it. She’s going to have a baby. It has to be Christopher’s, from his trip home two weeks before he died, right? It has to be.

That’s what she tells her family.

Even when the baby is almost two weeks late.

Even when the lullaby she sings him to sleep with is 'Can't Fight This Feeling,'

Even as Finn grows up and her parents and sister always joke that no-one knows where he got his height from.

Even when she gets married again and Finn’s learning to lay Christopher’s ghost to rest, she never tells a soul.

 

*

 _October 2002_

Burt Hummel always thought his wife was joking when she talked about the Campbell curse.

“Katie, it makes you sound nuts, right? You know that,” he teases as he wraps an arm around her on the couch.

It’s been a long day. They’ve taken Kurt to the shop and taught him some basics with cars for the first time. Kurt’s already asleep on his other side; his warm little eight year old body snuggled tight.

“I’m not joking, Burt” she sighs, pushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, “it’s – I’ve seen too many people die” she looks at him with big blue eyes just like Kurt’s. He knows that part’s true. Her parents both died when she was younger and he’s heard about her aunt and uncle back in the 70s and about what happened to her cousin Mary in Kansas , “I want to teach Kurt some things…in case, I’m not always around,”

“Katie…”

“No, no listen to me. I’ve had this feeling, this…I can’t describe it, like, like something’s coming. And I want to know he’ll be ok,”

Katie Campbell was probably the most badass girl to have ever attended junior college in Lima. Hell, the whole of Ohio, and Burt was pretty damn proud that she deigned to marry a simple guy like him. She was a martial-arts expert, always taking their college teams to state, and now that they’ve grown up, she’d been happy teaching judo and kendo classes at the Lima community centre. She spoke, like eighty-seven languages on top of that, including Latin and even though she was a trained fighter, when she wasn’t in the Dojo she always dressed like something that stepped off the pages of some fancy-smanchey women’s magazine. She's already start teaching Kurt how to twirl sais but this is the first time she's brought up teaching him how to defend himself properly.

“Katie, I don’t have a problem with you teaching him what you can do, believe me. I just, all this talk of things coming, you’re kinda scaring the crap outta me.”  
“Oh, I know – I’m…” she looks at him strangely, “I’m being crazy, aren’t I?” she half laughs, sinking her head down onto his shoulder.

“Dad?” Kurt stirs beside him.

“Hey buddy, you ready for bed?” Kurt nods.

Burt gets up off the couch and picks his son up,

“C’mon kiddo, let’s go,” he says, before, looking up at his wife, “we’re fine, Kate, everything’s fine,”

She smiles at him but it looks forced.

*

Five hours later he’s standing outside his house. What _was_ his house, with Kurt’s small hand clasped tightly in his, watching his life burn. It’s impossible to comprehend that his wife will never coming running out of that front door to greet him again.

 _Something’s coming_ her words haunt him, drowning out the sound of Kurt’s tears.


	2. Chapter One

_October 2011_

 

Finn’s not really sure how he got onto the football field. He could swear he was in bed a few seconds ago. But the grass smells so real, the cold breeze feels so real against his face, that he _must_ be there.

He’s watching the Cheerios form a pyramid. It’s weird seeing Kurt back on the squad, now that he’s re-joined Cheerios for Senior Year to have something more to put on college applications. Kurt’s one of the people standing in front of the pyramid, twirling like these baton things, rather than part of the actual pyramid.

Quinn’s right at the very top, now that she’s back on the squad.

Something’s wrong. Finn can feel it. He wants to shout out but he can’t seem to make his mouth work. Kurt realises though, straightening his back and stepping to the side, dropping his baton, like he just got an electric shock.

Finn looks up. Quinn’s eyes seem to flicker, black, not just the pupils but the whole eye. And then she’s falling fast, like she just dove off the pyramid. It’s really high up. She lands with a shuddering crack, right where Kurt had been standing seconds before. He’s running towards her. He can see her neck’s twisted, facing the wrong way. Her eyes aren’t black anymore, just cold and dead. The back of her head’s mashed in, blood and brains spattered across the field. He can smell her blood. He feels himself scream.

Then he snaps back to his bed, staring up at his ceiling with his heart pounding in his chest, his sheets soaked with sweat. It was a nightmare. It was all just a nightmare. He sits up.

His head’s pounding with, like, the worst headache ever, even worse than his first hangover, or when he had mono.

He runs a hand through his hair.

“Finn, are you up? If you don’t hurry up, you boys are gonna be late for school” his step-dad yells up the stairs,

“Coming” he replies, wincing in pain, as his voice makes his headache worse.

He gets up slowly, finding some fresh boxers shorts and yesterday’s jeans to shuffle into. Grabbing a sweater off his desk chair, he shudders. He can still feel the look in Quinn’s black eyes. He pulls it on and picks up his schoolbag, still full of yesterday’s homework that he totally hasn’t done.

Ambling down the stairs, his head feels like it’s going to fall off, which for a second he worries might be y’know, possible, before realising that that’s maybe dumb.

His family are all at the breakfast table when he shuffles into the kitchen. He slumps into the spare chair.

“Mom, do we have any Tylenol?” he asks.

“Sure, in the downstairs bathroom. Are you feeling ok, sweetie?” she asks, her eyes creasing with concern.

“Yeah, just a headache,” he mumbles.

“You sure, buddy? You’ve gone pretty pale” Burt chimes in, also looking at him with worry.

“I’m fine,” he snaps.

“Homemade Brioche?” Kurt offers him, pushing a plate of some of that weird fancy French bread that he makes sometimes towards Finn. The scent of Quinn’s blood still lingers in his nostrils. His stomach turns.

“Nah. I’m good. I’m not hungry,”

His entire family stop what they’re doing. Burt puts down the paper, his mom puts down her coffee cup and Kurt gives him, like, the biggest side eye ever.

“What? Sometimes I’m not, ok?” he grumbles.

His Mom’s hand reaches out to feel his forehead, but he bats her away.

“I said, I’m ok, alright?”

“Fine,ok” his mom shrugs, before she and Burt and Kurt return to the conversation they were having before he came down. He feels like there’s a volcano about to erupt behind his eyes, but if he tells his parents he feels sick, they’ll make him stay home. And he needs to go to school. He needs to see Quinn, alive and breathing and being kind of a superior bitch, but y’know, one without blood gushing out the back of her head and with a neck that’s round the right way.

He must zone out because suddenly Kurt’s waving a hand in front of his face

“Earth to Finn, we need to leave,”

“Oh yeah, cool,” he gets up and shoulders his school bag.

He gives Burt a wave and leans down to kiss his mom on the cheek. She’s still wearing her worried face.

Kurt walks out to the car. Finn stops off in the bathroom on the way out and takes two Tylenol. He’s about to put the bottle back when he reconsiders and shoves the whole thing in his backpack.

When he gets to the car, Kurt’s already started the engine.

Finn gets in, noticing Kurt’s Cheerios bag in the back.

“You have practise this afternoon?” he ask as Kurt pulls the Navigator out of the driveway.

“Yes, for my sins. Coach Sylvester is going to have us on the field for hours. I can tell she’s nervous about putting Quinn back at the top of the pyramid. Of course she’d never admit it and will channel it instead into an inappropriate apoplectic rage regarding Mr Schuester’s proclivities for CVS hair products and whilst I may agree to some…”

“What did you say?” a cold chill runs through Finn.

“CVS hair products?” Kurt’s brow wrinkles.

“No, about, like, Quinn and the pyramid,”

“Oh, she’s back on top. It’s been hell with the girls. Santana threatened to go full Lima Heights and rip Quinn’s high pony out like the hair from a Girl’s World doll—Finn are you sure you’re ok? You look like you’re on the verge of vomiting, and if that’s the case I’d really like some warning before I need to pull over.”

“I’m fine, dude, I said I was fine,” he slumps further into his seat.

“Ok,” Kurt nods.

They spend the rest of the drive in silence and Finn can feel Kurt sneaking glances at him every time they get to a stop light.

**  
By fourth period Spanish he’s feeling a bit better.

It helps that he’s since seen Quinn, like, alive.

But then. Mr Schue is halfway through conjugating a verb(he should probably know what it means but all Spanish kinda blurs into one for him) when the headache strikes like lightning ripping through his brain.

He squeezes his eyes shut and he’s suddenly back on the football field. Black-eyed!Quinn is about to jump again. Her hands are on her hips.

“We’ve been waiting for you Finn,” she says in her best sweet, get-you-to-do-anything-she-wants voice. There’s blood pouring from her ear, “Daddy will be so pleased,” she purrs, her face flickering away for a second, to a horrific monster’s. Then she’s Quinn again, tumbling through the air again and then all broken and bleeding.

He snaps back to reality, pain piercing his brain. His stomach twists. He retches into his palm.

Puck elbows him, eyes concerned, “Dude, you gonna puke?” he asks.

Finn nods, hand over his mouth, head down.

“Mr Schue,” Puck interrupts the lesson.

Mr Schue turns around to look at them and Puck doesn’t even need to say anything else.

Mr Schue is suddenly helping Finn up and getting his head over the classroom trash can, just in time for him to hurl.

The entire Spanish class is laughing, until Puck turns around and glares at them.

“Think you’re done?” Mr Schue asks, with a kind hand on Finn’s back.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Puck, will you take Finn to the nurse’s office?” Mr Schue asks.

“Sure thing, Mr S,”

Puck stands up, grabs Finn’s things and the guides Finn by the arm out of the classroom.

“You ok, man?” he asks Finn.

Finn’s brain can’t process it all. He feels like he’s just stopped.Frozen in time. He shivers.

“Something really bad is gonna happen,” he says slow.

“Aww, man I forgot that you ramble and make, like no sense, whatsoever, when you’re sick. C’mon Barf Boy, let’s go get the nurse to call your mom,” Puck says before shoving him towards the nurses office.


	3. Chapter Two

Kurt’s been concerned all morning. Finn looked like death in the car and Kurt can’t help but worry about his step-brother's inability to look after himself at the best of times. Of course, the worry is only compounded when his phone buzzes in the middle of French and its Puck’s number.

The teacher glares at him, so he thinks better of looking at it until after the lesson.

Kurt returns to his spoken assignment with Azimio while the jock glares back at him, answering ‘oui’ to everything Kurt says, even though he’s just asked him if he's an ignoramus who sleeps with donkeys in perfect French.

By the time he leaves class he’s got two more messages, a second from Puck and one from Carol.

He opens Puck’s first.

 _Sup Hummel. Finn just spazzed out and then started upchucking in Schue’s class. We’re in the nurse’s office and he wants to see you. Mrs H is on her way to pick him but he says he’s got something important to tell you and he looks like total shit, so get your ass over here_

 

And then the second one,

 _Seriously, Kurt. He’s really freaking me out_

Carol’s message does nothing to assuage Kurt's worry.

 _Hi Honey, the school called. Finn’s not feeling good so I’m going to come pick him up after my shift. I finish at 2 but if you wouldn’t mind stopping in and checking up on him while he waits for me to get there that would be great. See you at home. Love Carol xxx_

He ignores the bell signalling that he should be in English class by now, and storms towards the nurse's office.

The nurse is nowhere to be seen. Kurt slides behind the curtain. Finn’s lying down on one of the cots, his eyes closed and his face looking tense with pain. Puck’s sitting, with his legs crossed, on the other one, playing Angry Birds on his phone.

“Seriously, dude, took you long enough,” Puck exclaims, snapping his head up to look at him.

“Some of us come to school to actually attend the classes, Noah,” Kurt scolds.

Puck shrugs.

Finn’s eyes flutter open.

Kurt moves towards him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone’s drilling through my brain with a jackhammer,” he groans.

“That can't feel good. You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah. I need you to do something for me,” Finn intones seriously.

Kurt can see Puck shaking his head at him.

“What did you have in mind?”

“You have to stop Quinn,”

“Stop her from what?” Kurt asks.

“Jumping off the top of the pyramid. And turning into a black-eyed monster. But mostly jumping off the top of the pyramid,” Finn says, his eyes serious.

“Are you running a fever?” Kurt asks, holding his hand to Finn’s forehead. It doesn’t feel warm.

“Nurse said no,” Puck catches Kurt’s eye and now Kurt’s beginning to understand the earlier message.

“Look, I know I sound crazy ok. But I had this dream, and it felt like, I dunno, I felt it _inside me_ , that it’s gonna happen, and then I daydreamed about it in Spanish and it made me sick, and I was gonna stop her but my head hurts so bad I can barely stand up so I need you to do it,”

“Finn, that’s…”

“Just say you will, ok?” Finn pleads, his forehead pinched with pain.

“Boys, what are you doing in here?”, the curtain flies open, the school nurse, Mrs Rogers, is standing there with her arms folded across, her chest.

“Checking on Finn,” Kurt offers.

“Kurt, Noah, get to class. Finn needs to rest. Finn, your mother’s on her way.”

“But Mrs Rogers…” Puck implores, wearing his best cougar-seducing grin.

“No buts. Out,” she shoos Puck and Kurt towards the curtain.

“I promise,” Kurt tells Finn.

“Thanks, man” Finn offers him a weak smile, before slumping back down on the cot and closing his eyes.

Kurt and Puck duck out from behind the curtain and walk back into the hallway.

“You’re seriously gonna stop her?” Puck asks.

“Would you try going against one of Coach Sylvester’s routines?” Kurt snaps back.

“Point made. See you later dude,”

Kurt doesn’t reprimand Puck for calling him dude. They share a worried look before heading in different directions.

*

At lunch Kurt’s staring at Quinn. She’s at the other end of the New Directions lunch table. She looks normal. Or at least normal for Cheerio!Quinn. There’s nothing untoward going on. Finn must just be confused. It must just be the flu messing with his step-brother’s brain. After all, as much as Kurt loves him, Finn’s not the brightest at the best of times.

“Kurt, how could you?” Rachel storms up to him, breaking his concentration.

“How could I what?”

“Not tell me that Finn was sick. I found out from people in my geometry class sniggering about him vomiting in Spanish. As you didn’t tell me, my boyfriend was in dire need of my excellent caregiving skills and I wasn’t there to help,” she reproaches him, sliding into the seat opposite him and next to Mercedes.

“Don’t be mad at Kurt. He’s not Finn’s keeper. Maybe he didn’t even know he was sick,” Mercedes chastises Rachel.

“Who’s sick?” Blaine asks, sliding into the seat next to Kurt.

“Finn” Kurt replies before biting into his apple.

“I would just like to have been told” Rachel continues.

“Oh. Tell him I say get well soon,” Blaine says politely, before he and Rachel launch into a conversation about West Side Story rehearsals.

Kurt goes back to watching Quinn. She’s helping Brittany with her math homework. She looks comfortable. Happy, even. She looks fine.

“Hey, you ok?” Blaine nudges him, “you’ve gone really quiet. You’re not coming down with what Finn has are you?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Kurt says, as he catches Puck’s eye from across the other end of the table.  
*

After school Cheerios practise is going well. Everyone’s picking things up way faster than expected and Coach Sylvester has only threatened to eviscerate one freshman. They’re about to go for the big finish when Kurt feels a shudder run up his spine. This is ridiculous, he reminds himself. There is no rational way on earth that Finn could be right about this.

They start. Kurt shudders again, moving to the wrong side and dropping his baton. He cringes at the expected threat from Sue, but it never comes.

Something above him is moving. Fast. Becky Jackson is screaming.

And suddenly Quinn’s on the ground. Right where he’d been standing a second before. There’s blood. There’s so much blood.

Girls are climbing down from the pyramid. Coach Sylvester is running towards them. Everything is happening in slow motion.

Santana’s shaking and silent tears are pouring down Brittany’s face.

Kurt staggers to the side and slumps down in a heap a few feet away.

An ambulance siren rips through the air but the rest of the field is oddly silence.

Coach is doing CPR but it isn’t working.

Santana and Brittany are suddenly heading towards him.

Quinn’s cold dead eyes are staring at him.

Three of them sit in silence as an ambulance arrives. The EMTs call time of death on the scene, and zip Quinn into a body bag.

Time doesn’t mean anything anymore.

“Finn knew this was going to happen,” Kurt murmurs.

Brittany looks at him strangely for a second then she speaks.

“Did the angels tell him?”

“Angels?”

“Yeah. They talk about him, and you, a lot,” she says as though it makes perfect sense.

“I can’t listen to this,” Santana snaps and get up and storms to where Coach Sylvester is sitting and staring into space.  
Brittany starts crying again.

Kurt puts an arm around her, and lets her head rest on his shoulder.

There is nothing left to say.

Across the other side of the field he can see a man. He’s not a teacher at McKinley. Mid-thirties, good-looking with dark hair. He’s wearing a business suit with a pale blue tie and a long beige trench coat. For second it seems like there's a shadow of dark black wings behind him.

Kurt closes his eyes and opens them again.

The man in the trench coat is gone.


	4. Chapter Three

“I knew I should have kept you home this morning,” Carol sighs as she helps Finn crawl into bed, “and if you’re not doing any better tomorrow, I’m taking you to the doctor. You’ve never had a migraine before, and I can’t think what’s brought this on,” Finn can hear his mom rambling with worry.

“Hmm,” he just groans in response.

His head doesn’t feel any better. He’s kind of reached the point where he’s considering asking his mom to shoot him in the head with Burt’s shotgun just to stop the throbbing pain.

“There’s a glass of water on the side, and I’m just going to move your trash can over, just in case, sweetie,” she says, as she tucks him in.

“Mkay,” Finn answers, only half paying attention to her.His mom leans down and kisses him on the cheek.

“Try and get some sleep, ok, hun?” she says.

She leaves to go get on with some household chores and even though he really doesn’t want to face the prospect of more nightmares he feels his eyes growing heavy and sleep seems like it might be the only way to escape the pain.

*

He dreams fitfully of indistinct, distant murky things, but soon he’s back on the football field, just as he knew he would be, and the look in Quinn’s dead eyes slams like a knife right through the middle of his brain.He’s standing over her body.   
He bolts awake.

And he’s ok.

His head doesn’t hurt anymore, which means he isn’t queasy anymore. And he can think straight for the first time since he went to bed last night.He closes his eyes and sees only black – no dead Cheerleaders. Slowly, he edges his way up the mountain of pillows his mom had fluffed up behind him, checking that moving won’t bring his headache back.He takes a deep breath. Everything feels ok.

Maybe he’s now, like, an amazing psychic ninja or something and Kurt stopping Quinn stopped his headache, which is kind of a cool thought. Sure, feeling that sick sucked balls but maybe there’s an upside if he can use it to, like, fight crime or something.He’s crazy thirsty though. Just before he reaches for his glass of water, it seems to move a little closer to him on its own, but that can’t be right. He blinks. His brain must still be a bit fuzzy.

Downstairs he can hear his mom on the phone. Normally she’s like super loud on the phone. But today she sounds quiet and subdued. Serious.He glances at the clock on his bedside table. He’s slept longer than he thought – it’s gone five o’clock. Kurt should be back from Cheerio’s practise. Why is the house still so quiet?

Dread seeps through his spine.

“Mom,” he yells down the stairs.

No answer.

“MOM!”

She comes running to his room,

“What is it Finn? Do you feel worse? What’s wrong?”

She looks pale.

“No – I-I feel better – my head doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s just the house is super quiet. Where is everyone?”

She looks at him for a second, opens her mouth and closes it again without speaking. She comes into his room and sits down on the end of his bed.

“Mom?” he can feel his heart skittering.

“Burt’s gone to pick Kurt up from school,”

“But – why? Kurt had the Navigator this morning.”

 _It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen_ his thoughts are running a loop, half insistence, half prayer.  
His mom smooths down his comforter before reaching for his hand.

“Sweetheart, there was an accident in cheerleading practise today,” she begins.

“Did Kurt get hurt?”

“No, honey. It…It wasn’t Kurt,” she keeps talking but he doesn’t hear. She’s already confirmed what he was dreading. All the words blur to white noise. He tunes back in just as he she says, “Quinn passed away this afternoon,”

“She’s dead” he hears his own voice say. It’s not a question.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” his mom nods, gripping tight to his hand, “I know...I know you’re not as close anymore but I know how much you cared about her,”

Fuck.

This is totally not the kind of psychic ninja he wants to be.

Fuck.

Quinn can’t be dead. It’s too real, too awful.

He must be crying because his mom pulls him into a tight, desperate hug, just like she did two years ago when she found him singing to a sonogram.

“Ssh, ssh, I know, sweetie, I know” she whispers into his hair.

The door creaks open. Finn sniffs, gulping back breath as he wipes at his eyes.His mom gently lets him go and turns round to give Kurt and Burt a warm smile.Kurt looks as pale as Finn feels. Their eyes lock for a second.Burt’s hand rests protectively on Kurt’s shoulder.

“How’s everybody doing?” Burt asks.

“My vote goes to ‘not good’,” Kurt says his voice a monotone.

“Why don’t we all head down to the den and curl up with a movie? We can order food in. I think we could use some family time tonight,” Carol says, placing a warm hand over the comforter above Finn’s knee.

“How about you, feeling up to it, Finn?” Burt asks.

He nods.

Carol stands up.

“You boys go get yourselves sorted. I’ll call Breadstix. I hear they deliver,” she says, heading to join Burt and Kurt in the doorway.

Kurt doesn’t even protest the empty calories.

“We’ll be down in a second – I just wanted to talk to Finn quickly” Kurt says, seeming like his real self for the first time since he arrived in Finn’s room. Kurt’s still dressed in his Cheerios outfit, which makes Finn shudder.

“Ok kiddo, be down soon” Burt says, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder before wrapping an arm around Carol as the parents head downstairs.

“This is really fucked up,” Finn says as soon as he’s sure their parents are out of earshot.

“That might be the understatement of the century,” Kurt sighs.

“You wanted to talk, man?” Finn asks, swinging his legs out the side of the bed.

“It’s going to sound crazy now,” Kurt says, joining Finn on the bed.

“Dude,” Finn replies, quirking his right eyebrow up.

“Point taken,” Kurt replies.

“Has Brittany ever talked to you about angels?”

“Well, yeah but she talks to me about fairies and, like the secret life of candy, and how Lord Tubbington has his own food blog. It’s Britt, man. She’s cool and hot and funny but no-one takes stuff she says seriously,”

“No- yes, you’re right. Of course. You’re right. I-I don’t know what I was thinking,”

“You ok, dude?” Finn asks,

“Really awful day,” Kurt sighs, closing his eyes.

“Now that’s the understatement of the century,” Finn says quietly.

“Quite,” Kurt stands, “how are you feeling anyway? You’ve certainly got your colour back,”

“Well my head doesn’t feel like an elephant’s sitting on it anymore and I’m not gonna spew my guts up all over you, which three hours ago, was something I totally couldn’t guarantee.”

Kurt laughs in spite of himself, before remembering that he shouldn’t be allowed to laugh yet.

“There’s the brother I know and love,” he adds.

They’re silent for a second.

“We still need to work out what the hell’s going on though,”

“Maybe the investigative work can wait until tomorrow,” Kurt sighs.

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Finn half whispers.

“Me either,” Kurt agrees.

Silence hangs between them again for a moment until Kurt reaches out his hand for Finn’s hand,

“Come on. We’d better get downstairs,” he says, helping his step-brother up. Finn doesn’t need the help but he takes it gladly.

*

Their parents are busy sorting hot coco in the kitchen when they reach the den. Kurt sets about picking a movie.  
The doorbell rings.Finn’s the only one not busy so he answers.

In the doorway there are two guys in suits, holding out FBI badges. One is taller than Finn, which is like super rare, and has hair down to his shoulders. The other has shorter hair but somehow looks less official than the long haired dude.

“Agents Hetfield and Ulrich with the FBI,” the shorter dude says, “we’d like to speak to Kurt Hummel,”

“Hetfield and Ulrich? Like Metallica? That rocks, man,” Finn blurts without thinking. The short one grins but the taller one throws his partner this, like epic bitch face that would put Santana to shame.

“Finn, who’s at the door?” Burt yells through from the kitchen. Finn's really glad the one of his parents intervened because he's fairly sure an adult should be dealing with this kind of crap, not him.

“It’s the cops. They want to talk to Kurt,” he yells back uncertainly and his family as suddenly all rush to the doorway to join him.


	5. Chapter Four

“But why would you want to question me?” Kurt hears his voice squeak up an octave as he approaches the door, his dad, Carol and Finn forming a barrier between him and the FBI agents.

“It’s just standard practise in cases like these,” the tall agent, Agent Hetfield, he thinks from what the other agent indicated, smiles at him, before turning back to his dad, “Sir, could we come in please?”

“Be my guest,” Burt says, even though his got his arms crossed over his chest in the protective papa wolf pose that Kurt knows only too well. Finn shuffles to the side, and his parents move away from the door letting the agents in.They all head towards the sofas in the den and sit down.

“Can I get anyone something to drink? Water? Coffee?” Carol offers, sounding at a loss.

“No, we’re fine, ma’am” the shorter agent, Agent Ulrich, smiles at his step-mother, fixing her with a gorgeous green-eyed gaze for a moment. She looks a little shaken by it, turning a shade paler, and Kurt has to admit that these men are significantly more attractive than government employees have any right to be.

“Kurt, am correct in saying that you witnessed Quinn Fabray’s death?” Agent Hetfield askes, pulling a paper pad out of his pocket.

Kurt simply nods. He can see Finn cringing from the couch opposite. He wonders if seeing the real thing once was worse than having to see it on repeat play whenever you close your eyes.

“Kurt, did you notice anything unusual in Quinn Fabray’s behavior in the days leading up to the incident? Nothing untoward, in say, a previous cheerleading practise?” the agent continues.

Kurt locks eyes with Finn.

“No, not that I can recall,” Kurt answers.

“Nothing, I dunno, weird, going on around school?” Agent Ulrich cuts in.

“I-I’m not sure I follow,” Kurt responds, suspicious. He’s still not sure why the FBI is here and something feels really off about these agents. For a start he can’t believe the bureau would sanction such cheap, poorly made suits, although that’s probably besides the point.

“Cold spots? Funky smells? People’s eyes looking a little off?” the agent continues, before flinching as his partner seems to kick him.Finn blanches at the agent’s suggestions.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused…” Kurt continues.

“What in the hell has all of this got to do with a high school cheerleading accident?” Burt interjects, looking the men over suspiciously.

“If you could just answer the questions, Kurt” Agent Hetfield interrupts again.

“I…no…I’m sorry, nothing weird at all,” he shakes his head, locking eyes with Finn, who looks frozen to his seat.

“Anything else?” Agent Hetfield pushes and Kurt can see Agent Ulrich watching him curiously, like he’s analysing his body language.Finn’s eyes are pleading with him and Kurt’s a little concerned that Finn thinks he would spill his brother’s secret.

“No” Kurt’s voice is firmer.

“Agents, my kid’s told you he doesn’t know anything and today’s been incredibly hard on my family. My boys could both do with a break so why don’t I show you out. Kurt will give you a call if he remembers anything else, right, bud?” Burt says and Kurt’s never been more thankful for his dad’s overprotectiveness.Kurt nods again.

“Of course,” Agent Hetfield says, pulling a card from his jacket pocket and handing it to Kurt, “here’s my number,” he smiles and gets up. His partner’s already standing, looking at the framed photographs on the mantelpiece.He seems to have zeroed in on a picture of Kurt and his mother, taken only a few weeks before she died. He looks distractedly at Kurt before snapping up his head to agree with his partner.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” he adds, as Burt walks the agents to the door.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Kurt says to Carol and Finn once his Dad and the agents are gone, he can feel a slight tinge of hysteria to his voice. They both looks miles away.

“I’m sorry, honey, what was that?” Carol says looking up at him like she hasn’t been paying attention to anything that happened in the last ten minutes.Finn’s just staring straight out the window. Kurt follows his gaze.

He can see the FBI agents walking to their car. Agent Ulrich has already loosened his tie, which Kurt can’t help but think is incredibily unproffesional but then so were their questions. Then Kurt looks at the car they’re walking towards. A black Chevy Impala. Probably a sixties model. And that’s another part of the equation that just doesn’t add up.

Something definitely isn’t right about these men. A shiver snakes down Kurt's back as he realises that Finn wouldn't think to look at their badges in detail. And hadn't he heard Finn say something about their names and rock band? Kurt shakes his head. He's probably just being paranoid.

“Guess the coco’s gone cold by now,” Burt sighs as he walks back into the den, taking off his cap and rubbing a hand over his head like he always does when he’s stressed and trying not to show it.

“I’ll go make some more,” Carol sighs.

“I’ll help. You boys ok for a second?” Burt asks.

“We’ll be fine, dad” Kurt reassures. The parents return to the kitchen.

“Kurt?” Finn’s voice is incredibily small.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t think they’ll arrest me, do you? As, like, a freaky X Files thing?”

“No, I’m sure they won’t” Kurt says, even though he’s sure of nothing at all anymore.

“Kurt?” Finn prods again.

“Yes, Finn,”

“Quinn’s eyes turned black, in my dream, I mean, before she jumped. Her eyes turned black and freaky, just…like the FBI guy asked,”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, even though his every instinct is telling him now would be a perfect time to panic.

“Kurt?” Finn asks again, but its not a whine this time. His step brother’s expression has gone from worried to stoney, like a thought just crystalised behind his eyes, “you know what I asked earlier? About stopping Quinn getting to the top of the pyramid? Did you, like, try and stop her, like you said you would?”

“I…”

“Kurt…”

“I’m sorry, Finn. You sounded insane. I thought it was just illness talking…”

Finn stands up.

“I’m going to back to bed,” his voice is devoid of emotion.

Finn stomps back up the stairs. Kurt can’t even open his mouth to stop him, and is relieved when his Dad and Carol come back into the den.

“Where’d Finn go?” Burt asks.

“Bed. He, um, felt sick again,” Kurt grimaces a little at his own lie.

Carol puts the two mugs in her hands down on the coffee table.

“I’d better go check on him,” she says before heading up the stairs.

“How about you, sport? How are you holding up?” his dad asks handing him a mug and slumping down next to him on the sofa.  
“Like even receiving a surprise gift of the whole new Marc Jacobs fall line wouldn’t be enough to make this day feel ok,”

“Well it’s a good thing all you’ve got’s some of this fancy organic coco and your old man’s shoulder then isn’t it?” Burt says.

“Thanks, Dad” Kurt sighs, leaning his head down on his dad’s shoulder and letting his father’s warmth spread to his own muscles.

*

Later that night, Kurt’s in bed trying to sleep, even though he knows it’s a fruitless endeavour. Eventually, he gives up and decides that maybe reading a book will help. As he gets up, he can see a small light just peeking through his bedroom curtains. He gets closer to the window and outside he can see that it's taillights. The taillights of a black Impala driving away.


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to add a note to say that in terms of canons I'm setting this in early season three for Glee (although ignoring the Troubletones storyline) and going AU after season five of Supernatural (I'm a bit of a denier of the post-Krikpe years).

Finn’s curled up on his side, knowing sleep will never come. He’s feeling pretty shitty about reeming out Kurt. He knows it’s not Kurt’s fault, ok, it’s just he feels so useless. Like he dreamed of Quinn dying for a reason but he’s too much of a dumbass or a wuss to do anything about it. Maybe he was supposed to fight through the pain to save her? Maybe he was supposed to tell everyone?

Either way, Quinn’s dead and it pretty much feels like it’s his fault. And yeah, Quinn’s _dead_. He knows they never loved each other like he loves Rachel but she was his first girlfriend and his friend and she deserved to get out of Lima and go set the world of fire and it sucks hardcore that she’s never gonna get to do that.

And he’s freaked out by the FBI – those dudes looked like they meant business, even if the had only come to ask Kurt questions. If they find out about him, he’s major league screwed.

Finn feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s small and female.

“Mom, I said I didn’t want any pasta, ok?”

“I’m not your mother,” replies the owner of the hand in a silky smooth voice he’d recognise anywhere.

He bolts up to find himself face to face with Quinn. Quinn who died that afternoon. Quinn who still has blood in her hair.

He goes to scream but she clamps a hand over his mouth. She’s also holding a knife, the tip of the blade just pressing to his chest.

“Calm down, quarterback. You and I need to have a little conversation and I don’t need to you screaming for mommy, after all, I’d hate to have to slice up your pretty little face,” she threatens, moving the knife to twirl it by his eye, “here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna take away my hand and you and I are gonna have a little girl talk. You understand?”

He nods dumbly. He can feel himself shaking.

She slowly removes her hand, her _dead_ hand, from his mouth and the thought of her, like, zombie flesh, or whatever, makes him shudder.

“Y-you’re dead?” he pants out, trying to control his breathing.

“Uh-uh _Quinn Fabray is dead_. I’m just wearing her meat,”

“Her meat?”

“Jeez dum-dum, I mean, they said you were a slow study but work with me a little here.”

“You’re in her body? But you’re not Quinn?”

“Got it in one!”

“I…I… don’t understand, who…what…are you?” This is ridiculous, Finn realises. He must be having another nightmare. Or hallucinating. Maybe he got sacked super hard on the field the other day and everything since has been some weird fucked up coma dream?

“What I am doesn’t matter. What I can do for you? That’s what’s important,” she says, slowly tracing her knife up and down the front of his shirt, close enough to feel it on his skin. It feels very real. Sharp. Things aren’t supposed to feel sharp in dreams. Finn can barely breath, scared to move in case she tries something.

“So here’s the deal, big man on campus. Couple of years back your were gifted with some super special smarts – not the normal reading and writing kind if you see what I’m saying,” dead!Quinn continues.

“Uh, the knowing you, I mean knowing, Quinn, was gonna die thing?”

“Wow, you really are firing on all cylinders tonight, aren’t you?” she purrs, grinning wickedly, increasing the pressure on the point of the knife, almost breaking skin, “as I was saying. You’ve got a gift Finny, and I’m here to make sure you use it wisely”

“Like to save people?”

“You’re not strong enough yet. But with my help you will be,” she pulls the knife away. All of the breath he’s been holding in pours out as the sick realisation pooling in his stomach tells him that this isn’t a dream at all.

“What..what kind of help?” he asks.

“Meet me in the woods outside of Lima tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you,”

“I dunno,”

“Or you can never see me again and stand idly by as you get brain crushing previews of the gory deaths of your loved ones. I mean, Quinn was just a warning. Isn’t there someone you love more. Rachel, is it?” he feels like he just got punched in the gut. Dead!NotReallyQuinn!Quinn isn’t threatening what he thinks she is, right?

“That one’ll be fun,“ she continues, flashing a wicked smile, ”but hey, it’s your choice. I mean, they told me you were a leader,” she sighs, "guess they were wrong,” she shrugs, polishing her knife and wrapping it in a leather holder, before sliding it into the waistband of Quinn’s Cheerio uniform.

“No! I’ll…I’ll thinking about it, ok? ” he says.

“You’ll come around soon ” she strokes the side of his face, the way live!Quinn used to when she wanted him to do something. His stomach rolls at the thought.

She pulls away from him.

“Wait…what’s your…I mean, what do I call you?”

“I go by many names. Most people call me Meg,”

“Oh. Ok,” he nods.

“Sweet dreams, Finny,” she says before leaning in and kissing him, darting her tongue into his mouth. He pulls away from the kiss and she’s gone.

He’s actually going crazy. He must be. Or he totally just cheated on Rachel with a dead girl. A girl who’s neck he heard crack in his dream. A girl with crusty, sticky blood still her hair.   
And that thought send bile shooting up his oesophagus and has him bolting for the bathroom, to projectile puke for the second time that day.

“Finn? Are you ok in there?” he can hear his mom’s voice from outside the bathroom.

“No,” he yells back, in between heaves.

Because the only thing he’s absolutely certain of right now is that he is totally not ok.


	7. Chapter Six

If there’s one thing Kurt Hummel knows about himself it’s that espionage, is decidedly not his greatest skill. After all, he only needs to look to the Dalton debacle for evidence. But speed is something he can do. After throwing on a pair of skinny jeans and one his dad’s old shirts, rushing down from his bedroom as quietly and quickly as possible, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door and starting his dad’s car, he’s just in time to see the Impala turn a right hand corner out of their road.He pushes down on the accelerator and follows before he can give himself time to talk himself out of it, keeping a safe distance from the FBI agents or whoever they are, and sloping deep down into the driver’s seat in an attempt not to be seen.

“Oh, this is going to go well,” he castigates himself under his breath, “and now I’m talking to myself,” he shakes his head.

Kurt’s not following the Impala for long. He doesn’t really know where he expected them to end up. Would he have crossed state lines if that’s where the Impala was going? Either way, he certainly didn’t expect to end up here, at the West Lima Road Lodge where the Evans family had spent a large portion of last year living.  
Seeing the black car pull up in front of one of the motel rooms, Kurt can feel doubt needling at his stomach. Of course, if the FBI sent agents in from out of town, they’d need to stay somewhere and Lima doesn’t exactly have many options. Maybe they are who they say they are? Maybe they just have to investigate Quinn’s death because some of Coach Sylvester’s crazy shenanigans have captured government attention . He truly wouldn’t be that surprised if that were the case.

Kurt parks on the opposite side of the street and watches. Only Agent Ulrich gets out of the car. He’s not wearing a suit this time but jeans, heavy work boots and a dark leather jacket with the collar popped. He walks round to the trunk of the car and looks over his shoulder like he’s checking for something. Then he opens the trunk and pulls a top layer out of it. Kurt’s squinting to see what’s inside but to no avail. The agent pulls a gun, something that looks older than an official sidearm should, out of the trunk. The agent slides the gun into the waistband of his jeans and slams the trunk shut before heading towards the motel room. The room’s curtains are shut.

Kurt sighs in frustration. This is really making him question his sanity, not for the first time in the last few days. He should just go home and forget the matter, and give himself a full facial to wash away as much of this awful day as he can. Yet there’s something bubbling up inside him that won’t let him put the car into drive. Before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s climbing out of the Navigator and getting his cheerleading baton out of the back. It’s not much but it’s the best thing he’s got to protect him right now (and god he wishes that he kept his sais in the car at all times).  
Crossing the street, he carefully approaches the motel room, the one two doors down from where the Evanses lived. He can hear voices coming from inside the agents’ room and slides down beneath the front window, just as he had at the teacher’s lounge window when eavesdropping on the _West Side Story_ casting.

“Absolutely not. No way in hell, man. Those kids are my blood, even if they don’t know it. And I’m not letting this happen. We fucked up with Adam and this would be worse,” Kurt recognises Agent Ulrich’s voice, something cold pooling in his stomach as he does. This really doesn’t sound like official business.

“Dean, I’ve been over the lore. It’s watertight. If Barachiel’s telling the truth there is no way, man. Believe me, I want this even less than you do, but he’s right. This could be the only way to stop this once and for all,” the other agent counters.

“C’mon Sammy, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. This will never be over. As long as there are people scrabbling to survive on this miserable planet this fight will keep burning, long after you and I face the final hail of bullets,”

“Dean…”

Kurt's confused. None of this sounds like it's about Quinn.There’s a muffled, struggling sound coming from inside the room, like someone fighting against something, then another voice too far away for him to hear.

“If I wanted your opinion Prep School, I’d ask for it,” Agent Ulrich snaps. This time it sounds like he’s talking to the third person. There’s a crackling noise and Kurt can smell smoke. Every instinct is telling him to leave, to run as far away from this as possible and never turn back. But his body feels rooted to the spot. And Quinn’s dead. He’ll never be able to forget. He needs the truth.  
There’s a fluttering sound. Another voice joins the conversation. This one is calm and mellifluous but too deep and quiet for Kurt to hear it through the walls.

The room’s door swings open. Fear slams through Kurt’s chest He bolts to his feet, but Agent Hetfield, now dressed in jeans and plaid shirt, has grabbed him by the collar before he can run. Kurt‘s breath is stuttering out in ragged gasps.

“I’m not going to hurt you Kurt, but I want you to come inside,” he says, “Now, if I let you go you’re not going to run, right?” he asks. Kurt’s back is pulled up against the agent’s chest. He can feel a gun protruding from the man’s waistband. He swallows and nods.

“Good,” the agent drops him back down. Kurt is shaking. The agent pushes Kurt in front of him and through the door,

“Looks like I found our spy,” he announces.

Kurt gasps. The other agent is sitting on the end of an unmade bed, the gun he took from his trunk earlier in his hands. The trench coat clad man Kurt saw loitering on the field when Quinn died is also there. But that’s not what shocks him.

In the centre of the room, there’s a circle of fire. And right in the centre of the circle, tied to a chair and looking like he’s just been beaten up, sits Blaine Anderson.

“Blaine, oh god, are you ok? are you…” Kurt tries to run towards the fire but Agent Hetfield holds him back.

Blaine won’t look at him.

“You need to put the fire out,” Kurt shouts at the agent, “he’s…please don’t hurt him…please, he’s my boyfriend,”

“Wait, boyfriend?” Agent Hetfield asks, looking up surprised.

“So our little angel deep throat’s been getting his Liberace on with Michael’s new chew toy and we’re supposed to believe anything you say?” the other agent addresses Blaine.

“Wait, what?” Kurt asks, “Blaine what’s going on?”

“Kurt, I can explain…” Blaine looks at him with pleading eyes.

“Barachiel, this was supposed to be purely a reconnaissance mission…” the trench coat wearing man chastises Blaine.

“Kurt, I…I’m…an…”

“Angel,” Kurt completes, his voice a monotone. He wants to laugh. Is this supposed to be some cosmic punishment for his atheism? None of this makes sense at all. Dark realisation is flooding his brain.

“And you,” he points at the two agents, “don’t work for the FBI,”

“No, no we don’t,” the shorter one stands and holds out the hand that doesn’t contain his gun for Kurt to shake., “I’m Dean Winchester and this is my brother Sam,” he points to the taller man, “and you just walked into a whole world of trouble,”

 _Winchester_. Somewhere in the back of his mind Kurt knows he’s heard that name before.


	9. Chapter Seven

There’s no school the next day out of respect to Quinn – and probably because those creepy FBI dudes are still investigating and stuff. Either way, Finn knows its not like his mom would let him go anyway after his whole Linda Blair impression after dead!Quinn or Meg or whatever the hell she’s called kissed him.

So instead he’s just mopeing around on the couch staring at the TV. He’s not concentrating on the show that’s on though. He’s not even really sure what’s they’re watching. It looks like one of those weird house makeover shows or something. Kurt’s sat next to him, and he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the TV either. But then Kurt’s been behaving super weird ever since the FBI dudes showed up last night.  
And in the middle of the night when his mom was helping Finn back to bed after he woke everyone up with pukefest 2011, Kurt had been standing in the hallway wearing outdoor clothes and shoes and holding his car keys in his hand like he just got in from somewhere, which makes Finn think he was up to something, even if their parents didn’t notice.

“Kurt?”

“Hmm,” Kurt makes a noise in answer but doesn’t look at him.

“Did you go somewhere last night?”

“Because Lima has such a varied and appealing nightlife. Even Scandals closes at midnight Finn, of course I didn’t go anywhere. Stop being ridiculous.” Kurt snaps back.

“Oh, Sorry.”

They both go back to pretending to watch TV.

“Kurt?”

“What now?” Kurt snaps and he does look at him this time. Uh-oh. Finn knows its never a good idea to disturb Kurt when he’s in a scary mood. Scary!Kurt is almost as bad as Scary!Quinn. _Shit_ , he can’t think of her that way any more. This is so messed up.

“I…”

“Look, Finn I’m really not in the mood for conversation so if you want to talk why don’t you go give Rachel a call. I’m sure she’s probably left you hundreds of messages by now. Each one increasing in hysteria,”

“In what?”

Kurt either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to hear him. He hopes this still isn’t about what he said last night. Sometimes he wishes he could have some kind of eraser for talking, so he could just edit out half of the dumb things he says.

“I,um, guess, I’ll go do that then,” he says, getting up off the couch and leaving the room. Kurt doesn’t acknowledge his departure. He jogs up the stairs and into his room to find his phone. He hasn’t even looked at it since he was sent home from school yesterday and sure enough there’s a whole bunch of messages from Rachel.

Seeing Rachel’s name on the display makes him shudder thinking about what Meg threatened him with last night. He still hasn’t decided if he’s going to go meet her. He wants Rachel to be safe, he wants everyone he knows to be safe but he’s starting to wonder if he really is going mad. Nothing creepy has happened today. No scary headache visions. No barfing. And no dead cheerleaders in his bedroom. Maybe if he just tries to forget about it, it will go away.

He run his fingers over Rachel’s number and hits call.

“Oh Finn, thank goodness. I’ve been so worried about you. First after you got sick, and then, well, I’m sure you’ve heard the terrible news. I called you straight away as soon as I heard but you weren’t picking up,”

“I was, um, sick,”

“I know, I’m sorry, of course, I’m well aware the importance of rest when recuperating from an illness, especially for performers like us.”

“Huh?”

“The importance of looking after yourself when you’re sick,”

“Oh, yeah, right. I’m feeling, like, way better now,”

“That’s good…” her voice seems to falter for a second, “and how…I…how are you feeling about Quinn?”

“It’s super weird. It’s like I keep accidentally thinking about her like she’s still alive.Y’know?”

“Yes. I…it’s ridiculous. She called me horrible and inappropriate names for years but I ended up crying in Daddy’s arms for an hour last night,”

“Yeah, this whole thing pretty much sucks,”

“It’s terrible, I can’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence.

“You want to meet me at the Lima Bean at 3?”

“Only if you’re up to it,”

“Yeah, no, its cool, I’m fine.”

“Ok. I’ll be there at 3 o’clock sharp… Love you,” she offers tentatively. It’s only ever when she says those words that her voice loses its usual confidence.

“Love you too,” his voice sounds like an echo inside his own head, the guilt from the whole zombie girl kiss thing making his tongue feel thick and fat in his mouth.

They hang up at the same time.

He changes out of the t-shirt and sweatpants that he usually sleeps in into the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, before remembering that the last time he put them on Quinn was alive and that’s super creepy so he changes into an entirely different polo shirt, one that Quinn used to hate when they dated so it doesn’t make him think of her.

He runs down the stairs. Kurt’s not still in the living room, so he takes the pad from next to the phone and scrawls out a message: _“Kurt, I had to go out. Cover for me with mom and Burt,”_

Grabbing the keys to truck, he leaves the house, double checking to make sure that door is locked behind him just in case any more dead people want to invade his room while he’s out. And, ok, he knows he’s being super crazy and he’s really starting to think that maybe it all was some nightmare ( _but Quinn’s still dead_ a voice in the back of his brain pipes up, but tries not to think to hard about that).  
Arriving at the Lima Bean, he can see Rachel straight away. She’s already found them a corner table and ordered his favourite – a large mocha chocolate delight as well as small green tea for herself.

He starts walking towards her but the edge around his vision starts to dance. And no, he can’t let this happen again, not here. He takes a detour and slips into the men’s room, closing his eyes and gripping onto the sink as the now familiar pounding begins behind his eyes.  
He closes his eyes and suddenly he’s in the wings of McKinley’s auditorium. The rest of New Directions are milling around, fussing with ties and shoes buckles and stuff. Everyone’s dressed in matching competiton clothes.

“Testing 1, 2, 3” Rachel’s voice spills out far and wide even though he can’t see her. She must be on stage doing a sound check even though he can’t see her. And _how_ did he get here? No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be like Quinn and the football field. This _can’t_ start again. He reaches out his hand to pound it on something and it connects, hard, with the sink – so he really is still in the men’s bathroom at the Lima Bean, even if he can’t see it or feel it. And he’s actually totally going mad or something.

Then a horrible snap-smash sound and a shrill scream break through his thoughts. It’s Tina’s voice screaming. And _ohgodRachel_ is all he can think. He runs out from the wings on to the stage. Her body is lying motionless beneath a broken stage light, shattered glass embedded in her neck and black-red blood pooling beneath her and he knows she’s dead.

 _He wants to scream or cry or kick something over but he remains motionaless. He blinks and all he sees is bloodied glass in front of him. He blinks again and this time it’s the bathroom mirror. He’s back in the men’s room at the Lima Bean. His head still hurts a little but its no way near as bad as last time._

 _Sectionals is only a few weeks away. He has to stop this. He has to meet Meg._

 _He heads back into the coffee shop._

 _Rachel stands up when she sees him and waves enthusiastically. He runs towards her and lifts her up in a tight embrace, desperately breathing in the smell of her hair._

 _“Finn! We’re in public!” she protests lightheatedly, laughing as she does._

 _“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly, “I just…I guess I just had to hold you,” he says, putting her down._

 _“It’s understandable, given the circumstances of the last twenty-four hours,” Rachel smiles, smoothing out her skirt before sitting down.  
He joins her at the table. She starts talking but he doesn’t really hear her, he’s too concentrated on the vision - _vision? Is that the right term_ that he had of her dying. About half an hour into listening to her talk about some new Broadway show while he jiggles his leg up and down, he realises that he really needs to get out of there and deal with this._

He makes a big deal of pretending to check his watch.

“Rach, M’ really sorry, but I’ve gotta go,”

“Oh. Ok. Is everything alright?” she puts a hand on his, her big dark eyes looking up at him with concern.

“Yeah, course, everything’s cool. I just have to help my mom with,um, a thing,”

“Ok, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”

“Course,” he leans forward and kisses her deeply, knowing he’ll do anything he can to never let go of this. He won’t let Rachel die like he let Quinn die. He’s going to save her. He’s going to find Meg.

*

Its already starting to get dark by the time he drives out to the woods outside of Lima. And she’s there just like she promised, still wearing Quinn’s body like some sick Halloween costume - _and what the hell even is she anyway?_ he wonders with a shudder.

“I knew you’d come,” she purrs as he climbs gingerly down from the cab of his truck.

“Don’t hurt her,” he threatens, realising that even if Meg has a knife he’s still taller than her when she’s in her Quinn body and he knows he can be totally scary when he yells.

She laughs.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Finn. I’m not going to hurt your precious little Rachel. I’m going to make you're strong enough to save her,” she circles him. Her eyes have gone black and he feels a shiver crawling his spine.

“H-how?”

“We’ve got some training to do – but first, this” she pulls a vial of something out of the front pocket of Quinn’s uniform and tosses it at him.

He catches it instinctively.

“What is this?” He turns the vial over in his hand – there’s a liquid inside that doesn’t flow in the same way as water or juice or beer. It’s a thick, dark, black-red.

“Something to take the edge off,” she shrugs and gives him a wicked grin, “drink it down, Hot Stuff,”

He looks at it again. It looks a hell of a lot like blood.

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to grow up big and strong?”

“I…this…its blood. I..no…”

Meg rolls her black eyes at him.

“Fine. You want to watch Little Miss Broadway, get her pretty little throat torn out, that’s your choice,”

He rolls the vial around his palm one more time. Meg’s stare makes his stomach flip. He cringes. Opening the vial and he swallows it down in one gulp like a shot of tequila. His mouth tastes horrible – like he’s been punched in the face and its filling up with his own blood.

But then he feels it.

Like a sudden jolt of electricity through his body.

He feels…strong, bright, like he could take on anything.

It feels a bit like being on Vitamin D but more concentrated.

He wipes blood from his lips with his sleeve.

“Ok. I’m ready,” he says and Meg offers him a dark, inviting smile that looks nothing like Quinn Fabray’s anymore.


End file.
